A Bad Week For Dolores Umbridge
by E350
Summary: Shortly after Umbridge becomes Headmaster of Hogwarts, she finds several exchange students dumped on her for a week. How bad can it be? You have no idea... HP/Nicktoons crossover.
1. Monday

The fic you are about to read is a contest prize for TweenisodeOrange, which is so hideously late that it makes Duke Nukem Forever look prompt (okay, maybe not _that_ bad); for this, I am utterly sorry.

It is also inspired by DisobedianceWriter's excellent fic, 'A Bad Week at the Wizengamot', which I heartily recommend you all read.

Without further ado, lets do this thing.

* * *

**A Bad Week For Dolores Umbridge**

_By E350_

_Monday_

Undersecretary Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, Professor of Defence the Dark Arts, High Inquisitor and Headmistress of Hogwarts and All-Round Unlikeable Individual, was in a good mood.

She had just been declared Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, by order of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Eight, and was preparing for her first full week in the driver's seat. Of course, there had been problems – the Headmaster's office wouldn't open, the teachers were uncooperative and some lark had sticking charmed a pin to every seat in her office – but these would be easily overcome.

She was just planning a series of _delightful_ new punishments to inflict on one Harry J. Potter when there was a knock on the door.

A man in a purple suit and a long brown coat burst into the room, waved a piece of paper in her face and began to talk.

"Hello!" he said brightly, "I'm from the International Cooperative Bureau of Magical Education! I'm here about the exchange program!"

"…exchange what?" replied Umbridge, confused.

"The exchange program!" elaborated the man, grinning, "Professor Dumbledore signed it last week! You're getting kids in from the US for a week."

Umbridge pursed her lips.

"Albus Dumbledore's decisions no longer have any sway over Hogwarts," she snapped.

"Oh, right, the sacking thing," nodded the man, "Sorry, contract's already signed – you'll just have to grin and bear it I suppose. Anyway, here's the list."

He handed the increasingly bewildered Undersecretary a list.

"Hmm…Turner, Wakeman, Membrane, Manson, Foley, Fenton, Neutron, Estevez, Squarepants, Star, Cheeks…"

She stopped, her eyes meeting the pictures.

"…what the devil has happened to that boy's hair?" she demanded, "And what are those…_things?"_

"Oh, yes, them," nodded the man, "Well, Danny's half-ghost and the others aren't exactly human."

"_HALF-BREEDS!_" exclaimed Umbridge, making a very good impression of a gorilla.

"Well, technically, the last three are anthropomorphic creatures of human intelligence," corrected the man.

"_HALF-BREEDS!_" exclaimed Umbridge, making a very good impression of a gorilla.

"No, they're…well, never mind," shrugged the man, "They're being sorted as we speak – probably should have told you earlier, come to think of it – you'll see them in class, and…well, good luck."

He rushed out the door as quickly as he had come.

Umbridge stared.

"_What?_"

* * *

Umbridge first encountered the exchange students in her first-year class with the Gryffindors and Slytherins.

The lesson had gone smoothly at first – she had put on her most irritating condensing voice, ordered her students to revise Page 313 for the umpteenth time that year and settled down at her desk to read her favourite magazine; _Why Mudbloods And Half-Breeds Are So Terrible Weekly._

All of a sudden, she heard a wet splatting noise.

"Hem-hem!" she hemmed, looking up.

No-one replied. The Turner boy was holding a tube and smirking slightly, while the Neutron boy was giving him a withering glare. It was probably nothing _too_ disconcerting – what on earth could a tube do?

Dolores Umbridge was about to be introduced to a great non-magical invention – spitballs.

About thirty seconds passed before she heard the wet splatter again. She looked up, and again saw nothing. If she had looked harder, she'd see that Jimmy now had his own tube.

She went back to reading, only to hear more wet splattering noises. She tried to ignore them this time, but they got more regular and louder as they went on. It sounded like rain pattering on the window.

Hang on – maybe it _was_ rain pattering on the window. This was Scotland, after all.

She looked over to the window. A glorious sun shone in a cloudless sky. Birds twittered in the distance. It was a beautiful day.

_Splat._

"_What in Merlin's name is that noise?"_ thundered Umbridge, leaping to her feet.

Timmy froze, the tube just in front of his mouth.

"Oh, it's _you_, is it?" she snarled, marching down the aisle, "What on earth on you doing?"

"I'm blowing spitballs in Neutron's face," replied Timmy, matter-of-factly.

"And what, pray tell, are those?" demanded Umbridge.

"These."

And with that, Timmy blew a spitball in Umbridge's eye.

Umbridge roared in anger as she wiped her eye, as if a horrendously poisonous insert had just stung her pupil. She could hear the Gryffindor side of the room (and some Slytherins) burst into cheers and laughter.

"What the heck was that?" demanded Jimmy.

"Totally hilarious," Timmy replied.

Umbridge turned to him, her ugly face red as a ripe tomato.

"_Detention!_" she thundered, _"Detention every night for a week! Now get out!"_

"Worth it," grinned Timmy, striding from the room to further cheers. Jimmy was facepalming, but could not suppress a small grin.

"_Shut up!"_ boomed Umbridge, "_Shut up and get back to work!_"

* * *

That evening, Umbridge was in her office, sipping from pumpkin juice distilled from the tears of a hundred first years. It was a bit watery and rather salty, to be frank. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

"Enter," she called.

Patrick Star walked into the room, carrying what looked like a map in his hands. He looked up and glanced around.

"Can I help you, Mr. Star?" demanded Umbridge.

"I got in trouble, and they told me to see the hairy ugly guy," replied Patrick.

"Filch," snapped Umbridge, "You're not even on the right floor!"

"But everyone told me to come here," mused Patrick.

Umbridge slammed her head on her desk.

"Can I get directions?" he asked.

"Right out of the office, then down the stairs," groaned Umbridge, "Now leave me be, half-breed."

"Okay, see you," nodded Patrick, leaving the office.

Umbridge watched in horror as, instead of descending the stairs and crossing the classroom, he turned right and attempted (and succeeded) in walking through the guardrails of the stairs.

* * *

__Hands up if you don't like Umbridge. :D


	2. Tuesday

Well, it only gets worse, so let's continue!

Review replies;

**Gundamknight100:** Yay hating Umbridge! :D Thanks for reading.

**TweenisodeOrange:** She does make it easy, doesn't she? Thanks for understanding, and thanks for reviewing!

**Nausicaa of the Spirits:** That's a distinct possibility. =P Thanks for the review!

**Third Kind:** Oh, I fell into that world a long time ago... :D It's a bizarre crossover, but that's kind of the point, really. XD Thanks very much!

* * *

_Tuesday_

Umbridge sat in the headmaster's chair in the Great Hall, eating a delicious breakfast of buttered toast dipped in caviar. Every so often, she would look up and smirk at the Gryffindor table, where Timmy Turner was occasionally wincing and rubbing his hand. She _loved_ her blood quills.

Today was going to be a good day, she thought.

At that moment, a large, metal monstrosity burst through the window.

Umbridge leapt off her chair and dove under the table as the thing narrowly missed her head, crashing into the Slytherin table and sending Draco Malfoy's breakfast over Draco Malfoy's face.

"For the last time, Skulker! I'm _trying to learn!_"

Danny Phantom flew in the window, throwing a punch at Skulker. The force of said punch sent the ghost flying backwards, landing in a heap on top of Pansy Parkinson.

Giving his enemy no time to react, Danny pulled the thermos from his belt, quickly sucking the ghost hunter inside. He grinned, and put the cap back on.

"Have a think about it," he finished.

"_HALF-BREED!_" exclaimed Umbridge, making a very good impression of a gorilla.

Danny turned around. The headmistress had come out from under the table and was now standing in front of the hall, looking dishevelled and very, very upset.

"Oh, hey Principal Umbridge," nodded Danny, "Sorry, I just had to clean up this guy…"

"It's _Professor _Umbridge, you oaf!" bellowed Umbridge, "Detention! Detention in my office!"

"For saving your lives?" asked Danny, confused.

"For disturbing the Slytherin table and _ruining my breakfast!_" shouted Umbridge, "Now get out!"

"Fine, fine," shrugged Danny, walking out of the room, "See you in class!"

He trundled merrily out of the room.

"If anyone cheers him," growled Umbridge, "They will be in detention until their NEWTs are due."

Several seventh-years immediately cheered.

* * *

Umbridge sat in her office, trying to fix her hairdo after the morning's fiasco. It was being very stubborn; a fact the third-year Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff class had quietly tittered about for an hour. At that moment, there was a knock on her door.

"Yes, come in," she muttered.

A boy with a bizarre spike in his hair (Dib Membrane, wasn't it?) entered the room, carrying a large book.

"Hey Professor," he greeted, "Uh, I was just reading about some stuff, and since you're the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher…"

_Here we go again,_ Umbridge thought, unhappily.

"Mr. Membrane, I can only teach what is on the Ministry-approved curriculum," she replied.

"That's okay, I found it in the textbook we were all supposed to get," replied Dib, brightly.

Umbridge groaned.

"It's about curses," continued Dib, "Are there any that work on aliens?"

"…pardon?" quizzed Umbridge.

"Aliens," replied Dib, "Y'know, from space?"

"Mr. Membrane, there are no such things as aliens," said Umbridge.

"Yes there are, I got proof!" exclaimed Dib, pulling a photograph from his robe, "Everyone says it's just skin conditions and pink, but _I know the truth! He's an alien, and I need magic to catch him!"_

Umbridge backed her seat away.

"Mr. Membrane, I'm going to have to ask you to leave…"

"But he's _twisted!_" implored Dib, "He even made a gun that shoots pizza toppings, see!"

He took the gun from his robe, unconsciously putting his finger on the trigger.

"Mr. Membrane!" snapped Umbridge, "Put that away or so help me…"

At that moment, Vincent Crabbe burst in the door, shouting about a student prank somewhere on the second floor. Dib jumped, and pulled the trigger…

* * *

Umbridge slouched in her chair, exhausted. Her hair and clothing were still covered in barbeque sauce and bits of baloney, even after an attempt to wash them before class began. If it had been possible, she'd have torn Dib alive with her bare hands – she had to give him detention instead.

Just her luck to have scheduled an inspection of Professor Snape's potion class at the next period, really.

Snape was drawling on about a draught she didn't care to remember, occasionally passing her dark looks (which might have been less to do with her unkempt state and more to do with the fact that he was pretty shady overall.) The Gryffindors tried to hide their snickers in her direction, while the Slytherins gave her pitiful glances.

She was in a bad mood, and needed to oppress something as soon as possible. She grinned nastily as her eyes fell on Spongebob, who was trying to mix his potion together.

Slowly, she skulked over.

"Hem-hem!" she coughed.

Spongebob looked up and shivered.

"Uh…hi Miss," he gulped, "Whatcha doing?"

"Just seeing how well you mix your potion, Mr. Squarepants," replied Umbridge in her sickly sweet tone.

"Uh…'kay," replied Spongebob.

He reached for his next ingredient, the left big toe of a mountain troll (some of the things in Snape's cupboard were pretty horrible, all things considered.) Umbridge shook her head.

"No, I don't think that's right," she sniffed, "Can't have students handling things like that, even if they are half-breeds."

She scanned the table.

"Ah!" she nodded, grabbing a leaf, "This looks much more correct!"

"…but it says in the book," Spongebob began.

"Oh, I highly doubt it does," replied Umbridge, condensingly, "You're probably reading it wrong. I'd expect as much from a half-breed."

"Uh…okay then," replied Spongebob, cautiously taking the leaf, "If you say so, Miss…"

Snape turned around. He narrowed his eyes at the poor sponge.

"Mr. Squarepants, that is a…"

Spongebob dropped the leaf into the cauldron. It immediately exploded.

Spongebob leapt out of the way, exposing Umbridge to the full brunt of the disgusting vomit-like liquid. She screeched as the gunk sprayed right into her face, causing rashes and boils to erupt all over.

"…Bolivian Exploding Poplar," finished Snape, dryly.

Umbridge wiped the gunk off her face. She would have turned red with rage, had she not already been red with rashes and boils.

"I think we should have used the toe," said Spongebob, brightly.

* * *

What to do next...^v^


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